


Holy Fire

by theChickenpony



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Apocalypse, Slow Burn, but not that slow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 01:35:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19802035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theChickenpony/pseuds/theChickenpony
Summary: “You can stay at my place, if you like.”Crowley’s words echoed endlessly in Aziraphale’s head. All of him wanted to follow Crowley to his home, share a drink, rest together after the panic of the day. And yet he said, “I don’t think my side would like that.”Still desperate to salvage his position. Crowley’s position. As though the situation bore salvaging. He could barely stand to look at Crowley’s crestfallen expression.





	Holy Fire

“You can stay at my place, if you like.”  
Crowley’s words echoed endlessly in Aziraphale’s head. All of him wanted to follow Crowley to his home, share a drink, rest together after the panic of the day. And yet he said, “I don’t think my side would like that.”  
Still desperate to salvage his position. Crowley’s position. As though the situation bore salvaging. He could barely stand to look at Crowley’s crestfallen expression.

The bus stopped outside his bookshop and he bid Crowley farewell. There he stood in the dark of night, staring at the charred skeleton of the shop, no, _sanctuary_ he had lived in for so many decades. Everything he loved was in there.  
Well. Almost everything.

Aziraphale let out a shuddering breath, biting back tears with every ounce of will within him.  
“Aziraphale,” said the velvet voice behind him.  
The voice washed over him in a wave of relief. He was, perhaps, more relieved than he should have been. He turned and saw him in the dim light of the moon. His face was sombre, but the crease between his eyebrows spoke of compassion. “Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed. “What are you doing here?”  
Crowley shrugged. “Thought you might need some company.” Aziraphale wished he could see his beautiful golden eyes, read them like a book. He wanted to reach out and touch him, but he stood frozen, choking on his desire.

“Let’s take a walk, shall we?” Crowley suggested lightly, holding his arm out to guide Aziraphale in a general direction.  
“Yes, let’s,” Aziraphale said as brightly as he could manage. He couldn’t find it in him to resist. Where else could he even go?  
He followed Crowley through the empty Soho streets in comfortable silence. They wound through the city, occasionally making the odd comment about a new restaurant they hadn’t been to, or a beautiful building. Simple things. Easy things.  
Eventually Crowley stopped in front of a modern, expensive-looking apartment building. Aziraphale had never been there before. “Would you like to come in?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale hesitated. “Glass of wine, maybe?”  
_Yes_ , thought Aziraphale, but he said nothing. He could still save them if he refused, couldn’t he?  
“You can say no, you know,” said Crowley. Aziraphale’s face must have given away his internal battle. “We can keep wandering until morning. Have breakfast at that new café we saw.” His voice was so soft, so willing to accommodate.  
“No,” Aziraphale said slowly. “I think I’d like to stay here with you. Just for tonight.”  
Crowley’s face lit up like a golden dawn, though Aziraphale could tell he was trying to suppress it. He wanted to make Crowley’s face light up like that every day, all the time. Resisting was so difficult, but it was the right thing to do.  
Wasn’t it?

They lounged on Crowley’s uncomfortable sofa,  sitting perhaps a little closer together than strictly necessary, drinking wine older and more expensive than suitable for drowning sorrows. Then again, they had just averted the apocalypse. It was something of a special occasion. They started with a Fleur du Cap Cabernet Sauvignon, and lost track of what they were drinking soon after.  One glass of wine never stood alone. It soon became one bottle, which soon became two, three... How many?   
And in the wake of copious consumption followed intoxicated tears.

“I can’t believe it’s gone,” Aziraphale whispered, slurring slightly. “All of it, gone. My collections, my home... Gone forever.” He blinked away tears, though he could no longer stem the tide.  
“Oh, angel, I’m so sorry,” Crowley said, his voice so warm, so sorrowful. He felt Aziraphale’s pain, the angel knew.  
Aziraphale tried to pull himself together. “I’m sorry about your car too,” he said, sniffing.  
Crowley brushed it off, though his voice was thick when he next spoke. “Don’t worry about it,” he said without looking at Aziraphale. “At least I still have this,” he gestured vaguely around him. “I’ll be alright.”  
Aziraphale softened, and wiped away his tears. Without an ounce of sense to guide him, he reached out to Crowley and removed his sunglasses. His eyes told a different story from his words.  
“Oh Crowley,” sighed Aziraphale. “You’re such a bad liar.”  
Crowley finally looked at him. He could he fracturing self-control painted on his face. He knew his own face must be similar.  
He gave up.

Aziraphale rested his forehead on Crowley’s shoulder and felt him stiffen, then relax and  gingerly  put an arm around Aziraphale, gently pulling him a little closer. Aziraphale breathed in the smell of fragrant smoke, like burning cinnamon. Crowley’s smell. Not evil, like Sandalphon had said, but warm, familiar, and welcoming. He closed his eyes and let himself get lost in it, forget the world. Forget everything except the one thing that truly,  _truly_ , mattered to him.  
Crowley rested his head lightly on Aziraphale’s. Comforting, but also seeking comfort. Aziraphale felt warm dewdrops falling on his hair, so silently he barely noticed until Crowley’s breath hitched in his throat. Aziraphale lifted his head and saw Crowley’s eyes shut tightly, jaw clenched so hard he could see the muscle strain. He reached out a hand and rested it gently on Crowley’s face.  
“Crowley?”  
He opened his eyes, so broken, so filled with longing. Locking with Aziraphale’s and brimming with tears. “Angel...” His voice cracked, and Aziraphale knew he wanted to say more. “Angel, I -” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  
“I think we should sober up,” he said, refusing once again to meet Aziraphale’s eyes.  
_That’s not what you were going to say_ , Aziraphale thought. “Yes, I rather think so,” he said instead. 

Aziraphale winced as the alcohol left his bloodstream. He found that being sober did not make it any easier to resist, though it did make him more miserable about it.  
“We’re going to die tomorrow,” Crowley said. “Heaven and Hell won’t forgive us.”  
Aziraphale wanted to say something positive, at least in defence of Heaven, but he knew Crowley was right. They were traitors, to be made an example of. So much for unconditional forgiveness. Then again, there was the Fall, and the whole business with Noah. “Any regrets?” Aziraphale asked.  
“More than you know.” Crowley wouldn’t look at him

Aziraphale couldn’t stand it. They were going to die, and Crowley couldn’t even bear to look at him.  
He took Crowley’s hand in his own. “Crowley -” he began, but then he saw the demon changing. White spread from his hand along his arm, his face becoming older, rounder. His golden eyes turned grey-blue.   
“Aziraphale?” Crowley asked in Aziraphale’s voice.  
Aziraphale looked down at himself. He was Crowley. And Crowley was him. “That’s it!” he exclaimed. “That’s what Agnes meant! ‘Choose your faces wisely.’ Crowley, if they come for us while we’re like this, we might just survive.”  
Crowley’s face – well, Aziraphale’s face – smiled back at him,  dazzling him . “Angel, you are brilliant,” he said with reverence. Aziraphale smiled. If this worked, they had more time. Heaven and Hell would be forced to leave them alone while they regrouped.

Birdsong filtered through the windows as they planned their next moves, getting the hang of each other’s bodies. As the sun rose, Aziraphale realised that something was different. The air smelled fresher than before, yet somehow slightly off, though he couldn’t quite place it. Crowley’s body had much stronger senses than his. “Something’s changed,” he told Crowley.  
“You sure it’s not your new cologne?” Crowley teased.  
Aziraphale rolled his – no, Crowley’s – eyes. “It’s not that,” he said. He closed his eyes and breathed in the new air, trying to decipher what it meant. “I think Adam’s doing something. Resetting things, perhaps.”  
“If he’s moving, our people will be reacting as well. We need to get going.”  
“Yes, I suppose we do.” Aziraphale didn’t want Crowley to go. He wanted him to stay, but if either side suspected them of colluding even further, they might realise that something wasn’t right. The plan would fail. Aziraphale found that he was less afraid of dying than he was of not seeing Crowley again.  
“Goodbye, angel,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale heard a certain forlornness in his voice.  
“Goodbye, dear,” he echoed. And may we meet again...

* * *

“To the world,” said Aziraphale, clinking his glass to Crowley’s. Crowley was grateful for his sunglasses, as he so often was around Aziraphale. They hid what he knew his eyes so easily betrayed. To the world indeed. Crowley had simply neglected to mention whose world he was talking about. _His._  
Was it so really wrong to love an angel? He was only barely a demon, after all. Then again, if he was honest, it wasn’t so much Heaven and Hell in his way as a simple sentence. _You go too fast for me, Crowley_. A forceful hand that jerked on the reins whenever he said too much, revealed too much, did too much.  
It didn’t bear much thinking about, so he resolved to stop thinking and simply listen while Aziraphale told him what happened in Hell, talked about his food, and recollected his memories from when he was discorporated. And then he fell silent.  
“When you said you lost your best friend...” Aziraphale hesitated.  
“I meant you, angel.” So clever, yet so stupid. He stood by his judgement.  
He could see Aziraphale racking his brain for something appropriate to say, sifting through thoughts for the right words. “Oh,” he finally said.  
‘ _Oh?’ That’s it?  
_“Crowley, I think we’d better leave,” Aziraphale said quickly. He paused. “Will you come to my shop?” His eyes were pleading, but Crowley couldn’t tell what it was they were pleading for. Obviously not him. To say he was put-out was an understatement, but then he couldn’t find a better word for it without picking at the wound further. Yet he nodded, and snapped his fingers to produce their payment. He never could say no to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale made them both hot cocoa, and they sat on rickety chairs in his back room as they always did when they drank here. He was fidgety, as though he was burning to say something that sat at the tip of his tongue and refused to be spat out. Crowley sipped quietly on his cocoa. He was patient. Lord knows he was patient.  
He recalled the previous night. They had never been so close before. Crowley thought perhaps finally, in the face of death, Aziraphale could let go of his fear, his desire to please an authority that couldn’t care less about him. But he was wrong. Clearly.  
“Crowley, did you hear me?” Aziraphale asked.  
“What? No, sorry. What is it, angel?” He blinked away the tears in the corner of his eyes, trying to focus on what was happening.  
“I asked if you would like to stay here tonight,” Aziraphale said. “To make up for drinking all your wine last night, of course,” he added quickly. “I have a lovely case of Pape Clement Blanc that I haven’t touched yet. Haven’t had white in a while, actually.” He was nervous, Crowley noted.  
“Well, I do think we can celebrate our triumph over our old allies,” Crowley said. As though he needed an excuse to drink. He did need an excuse to stay with Aziraphale though. He would wait. He would go as slow as the angel needed. How could he not?

Aziraphale fetched the wine and put a record on his gramophone. Classical, as usual. Crowley might have rolled his eyes if he was any less fond. Aziraphale was constant, steadfast, dependable. Crowley was like the wind, here today, gone tomorrow. And yet he was tethered to a certain angel, holding on for dear life to the one foundation capable of grounding him in the present.  
They sipped their wine and listened absently to the soft music. They talked about everything, and nothing. Idle comments, hollow laughter, dancing around each other as though afraid to mention the subject that hung like a heavy cloud between them. Crowley burned to say something meaningful, move closer, reach for him, but he didn’t. Slowly, slowly, slowly.  
Crowley wanted to scream. _Angel_ , he wanted to cry, _I can’t go any slower than this._ But he didn’t. He closed his eyes and drowned in the wine.

Sufficiently intoxicated, Crowley didn’t think when he heard the music change. Je te veux, by Satie. Obscure, but one of the few classical pieces he enjoyed. A beautiful, timeless waltz. He stood up, perhaps a bit too quickly, because he nearly lost his balance. He bowed slightly, and held out his hand to Aziraphale. He wasn’t altogether sure what he was doing, or why he was doing it, and yet he was doing something. “May I have this dance?”  
Perhaps in an earlier time, or in a state less intoxicated, Aziraphale might have said something to the effect of _I don’t know how, Crowley,_ but instead he took his hand and let Crowley pull him to his feet.

“Hand here,” Crowley mumbled, moving Aziraphale’s hand to his shoulder. “And the other...” he took Aziraphale’s other hand in his own, lacing their fingers together. He left space between them, enough room for his angel to be comfortable, but Aziraphale closed the distance between them, standing so close that Crowley thought his heart might burst.  
“One, two, three... One, two,three...” he counted under his breath as he led Aziraphale around the tiny spaces in the bookshop. Aziraphale was a terrible dancer, he thought. Or at least, that’s what he might have thought if his head was at all clear. As it was, he barely noticed the angel treading on his toes every few steps. He couldn’t even hear the music anymore. His mind was enraptured by the feel of soft, manicured hands holding his a bit too tight to be casual. The smell of a sweet, floral cologne, and underneath it Aziraphale’s natural, clean scent. It surrounded him as he rested his head atop Aziraphale’s impossibly soft curls. He closed his eyes and let his senses drown in the presence of the angel.  
Aziraphale’s head against Crowley’s chest was a feeling Crowley had dreamed of for... How long? He couldn’t pinpoint the moment. It felt like he had been falling for Aziraphale since the moment time began, but he knew it couldn’t have been that long. Could it? What instinct had compelled him to seek him out on the wall in Eden?  
Crowley’s breathing slowed, synchronising with Aziraphale’s. When had he learned how slowly the angel breathed? When has he memorised the usual rhythmic beat of his heart? The heart he could almost feel beating against his own. Fluttering as though taken with subdued excitement.  
Crowley opened his eyes and gently raised Aziraphale’s chin. The angel’s blue eyes stared up at him, wide with... expectation, perhaps? So difficult to read.  
“Oh, angel,” he murmured. Don’t look at me like that, he thought. I’ll lose my mind. Then again, it seemed he had lost himself already today,  
He tried to read Aziraphale, but his mind would not clear of the fog. Something told him he should sober up before he did something he probably shouldn’t, but he was overcome. So compelled to... To...

To close the gap between their faces, and ever so gently press his lips to Aziraphale’s. Only for a moment before withdrawing, searching Aziraphale’s face for a sign.  
“Too fast?” he asked, anxious to know exactly how stupid he had just been.  
“Not at all,” breathed Aziraphale. “Not a moment too soon, my dear.” He reached up and buried his fingers in Crowley’s hair, gently pulling him down to kiss him again.  
Heaven hadn’t a stitch on this.


End file.
